If you’re gonna be the death of me, that’s how I wanna go

I love the books he shares with me,
hate that I see them referenced everywhere.

I love that he’s so playful,
hate that it’s only a game.

I love the charm he wears around his neck,
hate how charmed I am by its rhythmic clinking.

I love the wrinkles by his eyes,
hate the wrinkle she put in things.

I love how much he tells me,
hate what I now know.

I love the truth (I love him),
hate the lie (it’s nothing).

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